


Grey Lament

by frodolass



Series: Dream With Hope [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Pining, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-24
Updated: 2002-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frodolass/pseuds/frodolass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samwise laments on that which he has lost to the sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Lament

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Slash or M/M romance fic, so if that sort of thing bothers you, leave now. The Lord of the Rings and its characters do not belong to me (though I'd dearly love to have both Frodo and Samwise in my possession ^_^). They belong to the wonderful mastermind that is J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm thinking of expanding this into a much larger fic, but this will due for the time being. I believe it will stand on it's own quite well. It's set some 15 years after Frodo left Middle-earth. Please feel free to review! Seriously, we loves the reviews, precious!

I hate the sea.

She is treacherous. She'll appear beautiful and peaceful on the outside, but inside she's teeming with dark thing,  
things with eyes and teeth, and all other forms of danger. She is hungry. She'll toss you about with her waves for a  
game and swallow you up before you can muster the strength to save yourself. She is cruel, and cold. She drowns  
you in her icy depths and doesn't allow you to breath. She is selfish. At a whim she takes those who dare to tread her,  
often taking loved ones away and keeping them to herself.

The Elves may love it as they please, but to me the sea will always mean sorrow and grief. It will always symbolize to  
me all that I ever really loved becoming lost to me in the cold grey twilight of that day. That day when Mr. Frodo  
passed over the sea, down the Straight Road, to Aman, the Undying Lands. I will not call that realm Blessed, for if it  
is blessed, it is only because Frodo dwells there now. Were that I was so blessed!

I can almost hate the Elves for their part in it. I had once loved them and longed to hear about their kind and to see  
all their Elf-magic. To be among the Elves in their own lands was to me one of the best things in Middle-earth. What  
rot. How blind must I have been not to see the best thing in Middle-earth was already right in front of my very nose.  
And those very same Elves took him away with them. They ran to hide from the real world, and they took Frodo  
away with them, as if he had no more place in the land that gave him birth. Now, all I long to hear is Frodo's voice,  
and all I long to see is his face smiling back at me the way it used to, before things changed.

Yes, it seems that a lot of things have changed since those simple days before the Ring came and turned our world  
on its head. I remember the days when I was but a lad and the only worries I had were concerning helping my  
Gaffer pull the weeds out of Mr. Bilbo's garden before they suffocated the tatters. I remember how Mr. Frodo and I  
used to play all day, even though he were twelve years my senior. Poor Frodo had looked so lonesome all the time,  
after having his parent up and die like they did. I couldn't help but want to be with him all the time and try to drive  
his loneliness away. I think I succeeded in that at least, as he would always smile his brightest when he saw me  
running up to greet him every morning with the Gaffer following behind.

But I have to say my most fondest memories are those of us sitting under the oaken tree that sat atop of Bag End,  
reading to each other from the one of old Mr. Bilbo's books. I would often lean my head on his shoulder and hold  
his hand as he read to me in that soothing voice of his for hours, sometimes well past sunset. I surely loved him, even  
in those simpler times, before I even knew what it really meant to love a body, through and through. That lesson was  
to be learned years later, when the Quest was laid down on Mr. Frodo's lap. It should never have had to come to  
him. It wasn't what he deserved. He deserved to spend the rest of his days in peace in the Shire, reading from the  
great Red Book to little Hobbit lads and lasses, or smoking his pipe while I worked his garden. It didn't turn out that  
way though.

He had told me that fateful day that he was leaving because he had been hurt too deeply by everything that had  
happened. That I believe well enough, but I wonder, was it wholly due to the Ring? Or perhaps there was more to it  
than that?

I had another row with Rosie today. It seems to be happening a lot more often lately, especially now that she's  
pregnant again. This time it was about what to name our tenth child. She's set on the name Tolman, and I suppose I  
can't very well blame her, that being her father's name and all, but I feel that it's high time we named one of our  
children Bilbo. I feel she's been putting it off long enough as it is. When I suggested the name, she actually frowned  
at it and said, "You want to be having our child called names like Mad Bilbo by both children and the neighbors?  
Isn't it enough that our first son is named after that Mr. Frodo?" Aye me, it was a gorgeous row as had never been in  
Hobbiton before. I do not care if she's my wife or my mother, I won't have a body insulting Mr. Frodo, not after  
everything he's done for Middle-earth.

We'd a had a similar argument when time came to name our second child. She had said she didn't want the local  
hobbits speaking badly about our son because of his name's sake. I, of course, would have none of it. I told Mr.  
Frodo that I meaned to name my first son after him and I intended on keeping that promise. "And any Hobbit who'd  
degrade a child because he's named after the finest Hobbit whose ever lived has minds no wiser than nails, and less  
sharp besides," I said. That of course was the end of the matter.

I begin to fear that I might have come to resent Rosie as well, the poor lass. She doesn't deserve it, I know. She's  
given me a wonderful family and is as beautiful and pleasant a wife as could be wanted, when she isn't choosing to  
have quarrels with me. She's a terrific cook and housekeeper, she's marvelous with the kids, and the neighbors all  
adore her. I'm always hearing compliments at my office in Michel Delvings about how lucky I am to have her for a  
wife. I suppose I am lucky to have her, and I should be loving her with all my mind and soul, not growing to dread  
th very mention of her.

But it can't be helped. In my mind, from the moment I took her for my wife I knew things had started to go wrong  
for me and Mr. Frodo. Even during the Quest, when things were at their darkest, Mr. Frodo had always turned to me  
when in need of friendship and support. He was always open and honest with me. When he was in pain, he'd let me  
know about it. When he was afraid, he looked to me for strength. When he was sad, it was into my arms he came for  
comfort. That's the way I wanted it. I wanted to be his rock, to be there to take care of him whenever he needed it.  
That's what I perceived as my purpose, and I never wanted to let go of that.

That's why it was so hard for me when he later came to ask me to move into Bag End with him. I wanted to, more  
than anything. But there was always my Gaffer, sitting in the corner of my mind, old and weary, waiting for me to  
take up Miss Rose Cotton as my wife and join our two families together after all the long years of friendship between  
us. If I had refused to marry Rosie, it would have broken the Gaffer's poor old heart. I couldn't have done that, not  
after surviving the trauma of the Occupancy of the Shire. I thought when I told Mr. Frodo about it that he had  
understood. I can see now that I was wrong. He hadn't understood, and I think it broke him. My dear Mr. Frodo...

He'd hardly said anything at the wedding and his smiles were always somewhat forced. I knew he wasn't entirely  
happy. He never could lie to his old Sam. He even disappeared from the party long before the end. I still have no  
notion what he ran off to do, and I was always fearing to ask him afterward. I suppose now that, at the time, I wished  
to think only happy thoughts, of my new life with both wife and master, in the home I've dreamed of living in since  
as long as I could remember.

That very evening, as I fumbled about not know quite what to do in my new marriage bed, I swear I had heard him  
walk past my door, at least a dozen times, and his footsteps even came to a stop just outside the door and did not  
move again until Rose had finished with me.

After that he began to distance himself from me. Me! His Sam. I could hardly bear it. He'd come to me less and less  
often looking for help with anything and I knew he hid his illness from me on more than one occasion. And there  
were those nights where he'd scream in his nightmares, so much that I'd come a running to his bedroom door like  
lightning. And still he refused to admit me into his room. He had begun to lock his door at night. He didn't want to  
trouble me, I knew, but it still hurt like a knife in the heart to be shut out of his life like that. He'd a never done that  
before, not even at the Cracks of Doom.

It was not long until he had begun to lock himself up in his room at all times, except when he wished to eat, and  
even then he was silent but for a few polite comments about the food and the weather. Rosie of course never noticed  
(she never took much notice of gentlehobbits and their moods) but I could see pain in his eyes whenever I caught  
him looking my way. Something was dreadfully wrong and he wouldn't tell me. And like a fool, I never understood  
until it was too late what was inevitably going to happen. If I had known that he would up and leave Bag End so  
soon, I would have broken down his door myself to talk some sense into him.

And now he's gone, far away from Bag End and Hobbiton. And the Shire... And me. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin had  
tried to comfort me on the lonely way back home, that dreadful day, but I wouldn't hear any of it. My heart had been  
torn in two and the better half of it had been carried off over the sea between Mr. Frodo's nine fingers.

Rosie herself was truly a marvel. When she learned from me what Mr. Frodo had done, she had simply replied,  
"Well he's off with his own kind now, so he must be much happier now. Do cheer up!" I was so stunned by her  
careless reaction to my distress that I was brought to weeping with a bent head over my little Elanor. I never spoke to  
her again about Mr. Frodo after that.

I love my family dearly, make no mistake, even as the seed of bitterness is planted for Rose. It's hard business trying  
to love a wife you secretly blame for driving your most beloved Hobbit away.

Now its been fifteen years since that day. I'm now serving my second term as Mayor of Michel Delvings. Rosie, as  
I've already stated earlier, is pregnant again with our tenth child and all our faunts run and tumble and play about the  
Hill as healthy and happy as little conies. My Elanor is growing up to be so beautiful (she's been made into a maid of  
honor by Queen Arwen), and my little Frodo is as strong and curious a lad as ever was born. How handsome they  
shall all grow up to be. I have no doubt they shall all be the pride and joy of the Shire.

My only wish and desire is that my own Mr. Frodo was here to witness it. That alone would at last make my life  
complete and my heart whole again. But even though he's not here, I try my hardest to be the best dad and mayor I  
can be. And I hide my pain from them all. I don't want to trouble them with these terribly sorrowful thoughts that  
seem to enjoy residing in the far corners of my mind, driving me to weep and bite into my pillow at night.

Mr. Frodo once said long ago that I shan't be sad forever, and that someday the pain will disappear.

It hasn't. It won't.

He also said that I would be whole once he left.

I'm not. I won't.

Frodo, Frodo, my dear. You misunderstood me when I said I was torn in two. I was never good with words, as you  
well know. I meant to say that I was torn because I wanted to be with you more than anything, and yet I wasn't at all  
sure what you wanted, plus the Gaffer had his own ideas about my future. I was torn between my own desires and  
everyone else's. If you had only told me once that you felt for me they way I still feel for you, I would have ignored  
my obligations to marry Rose, for all the wishes of my Gaffer. You were all that mattered to me. I'm not sure it is at  
all one of the reasons why you sailed away from me, but if I had known it would mean losing you, I would not have  
married her.

Oh just listen to me! Here I am, rambling on about not marrying Rose, and I'm not even sure if that was the reason  
why you left. For all I know, you could have not cared for me at all and had only put up with me because I wouldn't  
leave you alone. I so wish you were here, so that I could finally ask you...

But you're not here. You're gone, and I'm still here, and still I look off towards the West, towards the sea that I have  
so grown to despise, as I had done everyday since the day I stood on the shores of the Grey Havens and watched the  
white Elven ship take you away from me.


End file.
